


A Treatise on Nature

by OfALaurel



Category: Twilight - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfALaurel/pseuds/OfALaurel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>50 years to the confrontation in the clearing, Bella's life with her vampire family is once again disrupted by the Volturi, and an unlikely conversation with Marcus forces her to contemplate the unpleasant question of her own nature. Post-BD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Reflection on Reading

If ever I were asked to tell my story, this would be what I would never share.

I am a reader, and by its very nature, am unreasonable and selfish. This is a secret, and an immaculately kept one, for it is known only to those whose very nature forbid them to speak of it. The world would never think to accuse readers of destructiveness, of avarice, but what does the world know?

My abilities confuse my vampire family, who cannot understand the logic of a mind so private it could function as a physical shield. It has been half a century since that day in the clearing, but I have yet to share my theories with my family. And I doubt I ever would, for old habits die hard, even if I only had seventeen years to form them, as compared to this forever to break them. I never stopped reading – if anything, I read fiercer now, my literary thirst insatiable. I revel in the clarity, the _understanding_ , that my new life has gifted me with. In that, I concede that I am not looking to break the jealous hold I have on my privacy, for I am still a reader, and I cannot believe there is any world more compulsively guarded than the mind of a reader.

Renee never was a mother in the most conventional of definitions – every lesson I learnt from her had been unintentionally imparted, and her never the wiser for it. She taught me to be independent with her dizzy distractedness, to seek contentment in my own company with her inevitable emotional absences. I turned to literature from young – in books, I found a scratching post to hone these life skills, and it was not long before I took genuine pleasure in my own thoughts, my careful deliberations, my hoarded sentiments. Readers can talk about their books, giggle over details in book clubs, deconstruct texts and subtexts in class, but yet, they would never choose to give voice to the whispered weightiness of each book, that which creeps into their hearts and sings and is magic. I share my delight in _Romeo and Juliet_ and _Wuthering Heights_ with Edward, but he is only allowed into my world unseeing, blind to the hues of cerulean and puce that explode into brilliance only for me. I know enough of silence, of the idea of self-possession, to honestly not be surprised that Edward could not read my mind.

Time is another gift that I have received from vampirism, even if it is a gift wrapped in patient silver and grey, quiet and unassuming beside its siblings of canary yellow, rich carmine, and rippling emerald. I would admit that the wisdom of Time pales when compared against the offerings of impossible grace, of blinding speed, and of unblemished beauty. But it is Time that enables me to learn this truth of myself, to appreciate the nuances of my power. I protect my family not by mercurial luck and a genetic quirk, but by the sum of my human years. Fifty years to the day Edward's venom made inroads within my body, washing out the blood that had sung to him like a cacophonous lullaby, and I am struggling to hold on to the frayed ribbons that secure me to my earlier life. Charlie had passed away two years ago, at the respectable human age of eighty-nine, and suddenly, I am bereft, cast out to sea without my father to anchor me to my past. Oh, I am happy – unreasonably, impossibly happy in this pocket of eternity I share with my Edward, this untouchable space of unhurried moments, our fingers twining and untwining, our voices low with murmured nothingness. But lately, I cannot help but feel as though I am swimming in my unaging body, each decade like a wave crest that pushes me further out to sea, making it impossible to see the sandy tracks I made in my time as human.

Jasper assures me that these thoughts are to be expected – when one has the time that we do, meandering and aimless introspection becomes inevitable. I think Jasper understands my torment so well because of his previous specializations – he dealt in Death, on battlefields against troops and newborns, and in his world, Death was the only constant. As vampires, we defy this rule of mortality, and I can only imagine his own restlessness as decay continues to fail to make any purchase on our indifferent bodies. It cannot be easy to have the fundamentals of your life, the essential truths of your previous existence, so comprehensively challenged every day that you draw breath. I am sometimes tempted to ask him if being able to feel the emotions of the world helps take the edge off his own demons, but I desist, my human manners having found its way into my immortality. And because of this illogical ache for my past, I am glad to have had the time to see my vampire powers as inheritances of my human legacy, that I can continue to be Bella Swan even if Bella Cullen is having a harder and harder time trying to hold a light up to those memories.

Understanding my abilities is a good thing, because it seems that I would soon be called upon to use them aggressively again. An invitation came for us six days ago. It came in the mail, and this gesture of consideration for our human charade was not well received. From any other party, it would have been appreciated as polite, even if condescending, but from the Volturi, it could only be read as a veiled threat. Of course we knew a week before of its arrival, but even Alice's powers could not prepare any of us for the recoil of fury and adrenaline that seized the best of our family. Rosalie would have destroyed the dining table from the mere force of her clenched fists had Edward not warned her, wincing slightly from the wrath of her thoughts. Jacob had phased against his will as Carlisle read the invitation aloud, and from the scorching onyx of my husband's gaze, I knew Edward envied Jake the release.

I had reacted as though lashed by a tongue of scarlet flame – pushing my shield outwards, covering miles within heartbeats, my lowered eyes unseeing as I tested the result of five decades worth of practice. The world fell from me, as did reason and logic, as I focused only on my ravenous need to protect, my ears ringing with the savage din of my boiling blood. And then there had been a pleading weight over my folded hands, and I had looked up to see Jasper, his slight frown causing the skin of his numerous crescent scars to pucker, his face a portrait of strange and terrible beauty. My other family members continued to argue in the background – _when had they begun?_ – and I had forced myself to relax, and nodded in an answer to the question I saw in my brother's caramel gold eyes, burnt a sticky saffron by his tension. Jasper had held my gaze for a fraction of a second longer, before he released my hands, a wan smile for my benefit.

I then realized that my family had been debating the question of our attendance. The invitation had been to the renewal of vows between the Ancients and their mates – a celebration of time, of a thousand years, that should not have agitated my family. But the affair would be conducted on Italian soil, and it would bring us into direct contact with the strength that waits behind the Volturi's high marble walls. We would be at the mercy of their numbers, even if all of our extended family and friends made the same decision to attend. But not attending, as Carlisle had reasoned with Edward, would bring the Volturi to our doorstep, to "renew our friendship" as Aro had threatened not so many years ago. Alice had been on Carlisle's side, even if she could not see anything beyond Caius' feral smile of grim satisfaction at our absence. And Nessie, crouched in the corner with her fingers thick in Jake's russet fur, had been vehement, her voice breaking as she spoke of the harm that would come the way of her grandparents, and Rose and Emmett, should the Volturi really decide to pay a visit. Nessie had been full grown for as many as forty years now, and though wise in certain truths, including Aro's determination to collect the more interesting members of her family, she is still a child, and innocent. Edward's eyes had burned at me from across the table, and the same heartsickness had gripped me, compelling me to move over to his side, to twist my fingers searchingly into the home of his palm. There were worst fates than Death and destruction, and should Aro ever break either Edward or me, all he would be collecting would be fragmented pieces, the fine dust of our bones, for we would never belong to anyone else but the other. Nessie is young still, a child worried about Death, and it would not be at our hands that she be forced to grow up even faster than she have had.

It had eventually fallen to me to end the argument, to cast the deciding vote in this matter that was truly beyond resolution, diplomacy and democracy be damned. In a rare display of will, Rose had chosen not to give Nessie what she desired, and had voted against my daughter's decision to attend the function. Emmett, giving words to the thoughts nobody in the room had wanted to admit to, had roared his bloodlust, and welcomed the Volturi to try to take us on our own ground. I had not been surprised when Edward cast his lot with Em, his jaw tight as he silently dared Alice to try and change his mind. Alice had merely rolled her eyes, and took her stance on the other side of the table, beside Carlisle and Esme. I had been even less surprised when Jake decided to support my husband – his love for Nessie is as compulsive as Edward's paranoia when it had concerned my human fragility, and sending Nessie into the lair of savage vampires is a decision he never would have made. Jasper had refused his vote, but not before he had stared both Edward and Alice down, calling them out on their tactical warfare ploys, and ordering them to stop besieging him with their doctored emotions.

My logic had been simple when I finally decided – simple and unchallengeable. If it is in Aro and Caius' interests that we do not attend, then attend we must. None of us trusted the Volturi, and on the weight of that argument alone, the verdict had been reached without any further dispute.

And this is why I am here now, in Italy, one week after we received the invitation. My family stands beside me, a meandering line, and we look directly into the heart of the forest before us, the sounds of revelry from within mere murmurs in the sultry heat of this night. The Volturi had chosen a forest just on the outskirts of Volterra for their formalities, and even though it made all of us feel better that we would not be expected to enter the city at all, we are still apprehensive, and restless in our distrust of our hosts. While Alice had not seen anything sinister awaiting us on the horizon, and I am now strong enough to manipulate my shield like extended puppets, enclosing each of my family in their own separate cocoon connected to my consciousness by mobile and invisible threads, these are still small consolations. I do not know exactly how much energy this revision of my blanket shield would cost me, and as the night progresses and as the need arises, I would have to extend my protection to our Denali cousins, as well as to our other friends, who I have long come to love fiercely. And then there is the issue of Nessie's gift presentation.

Carlisle had explained the formalities of the Volturi rituals to us, and it seems as though each coven would be expected to present a gift to the celebrating couples. Offerings of wealth and pomp are considered vulgar, and only tolerated from the vampires without powers. But for a coven like ours, an unconventional tribute would have to be made, and after much heated argument, most of us have reluctantly acquiesced to the idea of Nessie delivering our gift. My daughter intends to "show" the Ancients her favourite opera performance of _Tristan and Isolde_ , and while I have to concede that it makes for a better gift than Alice providing Aro with stock market tips, it still causes me to draw my lips back in an instinctive snarl at the very thought of the moment. Hearing my thoughts, Edward reaches for my hand now, his perfect face deceptively composed, but it does not fool me for a second.

"Let us go."

Carlisle's rich timbre is resonant in my ear, and my family exchanges a last round of glances. A fond smile for my Nessie, the briefest of nods to my sisters, and a conspirational, feral grin at Emmett, letting him in on my own readiness to fight. And then we are flying through the forest, my outrageous wine red dress barely jostled as I leap from tree to tree, always landing nimbly on my equally impossible pair of heels. My siblings blur around me in blazes of gold and black, each couple dressed to match, as is required also by the occasion. I look at my husband, resplendent in his open collar shirt of deepest vermilion, and lift his cold hand to my lips.

Just as we clear the last of the trees and into the awaiting meadow, I beseech him silently – _Stay close, my love_.


	2. A Reflection on Blood

Three things hit us as soon as we pass under the regal crowns of the last oak trees, their branches reaching down to sweep the tops of our heads as we slow down to a walk.

First - an impossible canvas of colors, the warm ambers of the thousand fairy lights dancing with the silver fire of the first stars; the imperturbable sable of the forest pulsing perse, and then fading indigo into the last milky finger lengths of peach and vanilla as the sun completes its final drop into the ocean.

Second - familiar faces, both hostile and friendly, but all curious, watching our approach with such unblinking intensity that I feel the compulsion to blush. My strapless scarlet gown suddenly feels a lot louder than when I had first chosen it from the endless options Alice had paraded in front of me. I resist the flutter in my fingers, a human habit of apology, and do not smooth the ribboned corset of the bodice, lifting my chin defiantly instead. Edward steals a side-glance at me, and smiles his half grin, and my heart remembers yet another of its human habit, and I am momentarily dazzled. He hears the staccato of my distracted thoughts, and brushes his lips briefly against my ear, laughing about my discomposure when it is I who dazzle him. I only have time to school the sudden burn of my wanting before our Denali cousins are upon us, Benjamin and Tia close in their wake. Garrett flashes me a knowing smirk, his fangs flashing white flame as his lips draw back against his teeth in his amusement. I merely raise my eyebrows at him, and look pointedly at his hand, clasped firmly within Kate's, the both of them declaring their intentions in matching outfits of confident purple. Kate allows me a small smile, her eyes tight with tension, even as Tanya draw me into her arms in a wordless greeting. Over Tanya's shoulder, I catch Felix's eye, his wide grin predatory and mocking, and I hear Emmett's throaty laugh as he returns the challenge. The air is cold, and thin with malice, and as Jane brushes past me to whisper in Aro's ear, I tighten my shields around my family, and weave new ones for our allies, barely troubled by my own exertions in my restive edginess.

Third - the thick perfume of blood, heavy and cloying and curling itself into my hair, kissing the pulse on my throat. Blood pooling in silver fountains like champagne, in ornate goblets distributed like wine. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jasper pressing the base of his wrist to his nose, his face dark with his struggle. Alice had seen this scene in her visions, this terrible glory and splendor of a blood feast, and she had doused Jasper's wrists with her cologne, hoping it would stave off the lure of temptation. I know Jasper would not find any comfort in the act, for my own throat is burning at the very scent of that warmness, that rich stickiness of human blood. It is impossible to drown out its melodious song, and I ache, down to the caverns of my bones, to wet my lips with what I know is murder. I cannot even begin to imagine the inferno that must be in Jasper and Edward's throats, them who have the memory of taste to further taunt their restraint. The scent of blood is so saturated that it is all I can smell, the natural musk of the forest hopelessly lost in the madness of this unnatural gathering. Nessie reaches for Jasper, pushing her arm through the crook of his elbow, and his muscles relax ever so slightly, comforted by whatever pictures she must be showing him. Jake tenses beside her, but after half a decade with our bloodsucker family, he has learned to trust our resolve. I watch as Alice pats the top of his russet fur in a show of appreciation, and would laugh at his wolfish display of indignation had I not known about the rush of air that it would introduce into my system, and with it, the poison of temptation.

But it is not a time for laughter, after all, as the briefest flex of Edward's fingers in my hand brings my attention back to our hosts. Aro and Sulpicia are approaching us, with Caius and his mate accompanying them, tailed by an impressive guard that includes both Jane and Alec. Carlisle, the rightful leader of our coven, steps forward to greet Aro, and I see disappointment twist Aro's face for the merest of seconds as he realizes he will not be able to steal all our thoughts from Edward's mind. Silently, I exult at Carlisle's brilliant tact, pleased that Aro would not have the needless opportunity to touch my husband again. Carlisle cuts his eyes in my direction as he closes the gap to Aro, and reluctantly, I pull the shield back from him, leaving it to hover at his shoulder, ready to envelop him again before any need can even make itself known.

Carlisle and Aro exchange a hug, and I marvel at Carlisle's composure, his face friendly as he moves to kiss Sulpicia's hand. Aro turns to the rest of us as Carlisle steps back, an unobtrusive physical barrier between the rest of the family and the Volturi guard. I don't know if Carlisle's subtle positioning is a warning to the glowering Marcus and his retinue, or to Emmett, who is nonchalantly cracking his knuckles behind us.

"Edward, Isabella."

Aro's low murmur interrupts all activity, and our circle of company is lulled into a watchful waiting, the silence so complete that Nessie and Jake's heartbeats sound like the refrain of a raucous rock song.

"Your daughter has matured well, and she does the both of you great justice in her beauty and grace."

Aro smiles at Nessie, an adoring gesture, and Nessie dimples, her bronze curls sweeping over her bare shoulders. Her sienna brown eyes, however, are unreadable, even though her hand has strayed to Jake's neck, as though holding him back. Aro laughs, a quick trill of amusement, and turns back to us, raising his eyebrows at our daughter's choice of a bodyguard.

"Renesmee and Jacob have a most unique bond," I reply, my tone careless, my small smile beguilingly confiding. "Jake feels … very protective of her."

Edward's hold on my hand tightens as he hears his own words, spoken so many years ago to a dangerously clumsy human girl, repeated in the most unlikely of situations.

"Of course, Renesmee is indeed a very special young lady," Aro concedes, his appraisal of Jake now approving, and as Edward's body rip with a muted snarl, I understand that Aro has not given up on his fantasy of the Quilette guard dogs. Edward's tension does not go unnoticed, and our brothers slip casually into a more defensive formation behind us, causing Caius to growl, his eyes malevolent smears of scarlet.

"What a pity I cannot relinquish that hope, isn't it, Edward?"

Aro's tone is apologetic, and punctuated with wistful laughter, and it is as though he has not heard Caius' unveiled threat.

"Indeed, for it is fruitless."

Edward's words are clipped, but his tone is civil, his face the expressionless mask that I knew only too frustratingly well as a human. Aro laughs again, and as Jane starts from her position with a half-growl on her lips, he waves her back, a warning glint in his eye. I snap my shields even closer around my family, my teeth clenched tightly together, and refuse to even allow the approaching forms of our Irish and Amazon allies distract me. By now, a crowd has gathered. Zafrina's coven flanks ours with unmistakable intent, and Maggie's face is worried as she peers at the confrontation from under Liam's protective arm. Caius throws our bystanders a mulish glare, but they stand their ground. Siobhan's stare is especially impassive as she regard the stiff Volturi guard, and I wonder if she is envisioning a bloody end to their night. But the fight is over before it can even begin, with the guard backing down on Aro's irate commands.

Aro and Carlisle exchange a few muted sentences, and then the Ancients are once again moving through the crowd. Aro's departing smile is all false charm and fangs, and I watch his retreat carefully, relaxing only when Alice murmurs a promise of safety in my ears. The night has barely begun, the sickle moon violently harvesting the obsidian skies, but it already threatens to be long.


	3. A Reflection on Nature

A few hours later and I am relieved to realize my early assessment of the night had been wrong. Apart from a party detail that I should have had the wisdom to expect as inevitable, the night has been relatively uneventful. Nessie's gift presentation had been received with rapt pleasure, with Athenodora caught especially in the web of my daughter's charm, her expression wistful with the same ache that I have long recognized in Rose. My child is thus doubly protected – by Aro, who sees our family as the invaluable link to the wolf pack, and by Caius' own mate, who wants to believe in the lie that Nessie perpetuates, fiercely blinded by the longing that only mothers could possess. I had fallen into motherhood with clumsy inelegance, but in the eternity of this night, I had felt for Athenodora's desperation. Rose had been silent as she watched the presentation with me, and we had exchanged fleeting looks when Athenodora leaned forward to kiss Nessie on the cheek, her ruby eyes glassy with her badly concealed thoughts. There is madness in this night, unreasonable magic that dictates that I should glimpse the losses that this Volturi queen has suffered, and pity her for her trappings of royalty.

But yet, it is not Athenodora I think of as I flee towards silence, eager to be alone with my thoughts. It is the faces of strangers, a kaleidoscope of vacant human faces that blur in and out of my mind, forming mercurial designs that change at will, but yet, are always held together by a filigree thread of carmine. Aro had been extravagant in his festivities, tasking his Volturi hunters with the duty of redefining the term of "live buffet", and his guard must have exceeded even his highest expectations. My family had watched, silent and numb, as they brought in a group of thirty humans, all of whom wore blank expressions, their minds wiped clean of thoughts. Edward had started at the silence, his brows creased before understanding had dawned in his eyes, the thick sulfur of his confusion settling quickly into a molten gold, luminous flints of hard revulsion. I had followed his quick glance at Chelsea and Alec, and Alice's low hiss had coincided with the moment of my own elucidation, and I had stiffened, my eyes burning enough for impossible tears. Rose's arm had snaked around my waist in the very next moment, her body a wall of support that had gone unneeded as my vampire strength kept me on my feet, every line of my body as graceful as it would have been in any other situation. In that moment, I had been made aware of my traitorous strength, my unforgiving body that refuses me even the grace of falling.

And what reason is there that should govern this world, that should make us creatures not only of infallible might and blinding beauty, but also gift us with the abilities of convincing our victims that they _want_ to serve their heads up on platters, that the scream in their blood is not a desperate call to flee? We are monsters not of our own creation; we are the monsters of our uncompromising perfection.

Carlisle had asked, with Aro's bemused approval, that my siblings and I leave to hunt in the forest, to put distance between this clearing and ourselves before the screams could ring in the air. He had elected himself to stay behind, to continue to keep up a polite façade in this social contract that we have been forced into. Esme had declared, like an afterthought to Carlisle's unfinished sentence, that she would remain with him, her quiet words a warning that stalled any argument we might have. And truth be told, we did not need to be asked twice to leave, for the slow burn that had been ignited under our skins with the arrival of the invitation is now a spark of simmering flame, pushing firmly against our pressure points.

Jake and Nessie had taken off at a flat sprint as soon as Carlisle had finished speaking, my daughter's relief tangible as her scent scatters in the light breeze, heady with her protectiveness of Jake's long suffering this night. Emmett and Rose were next to follow, Em pulling on his wife's hand as Rose turned to regard us with her unblinking eyes, her unarticulated question answered by Edward as he nodded at her, his features softening for the first time since the debauchery had begun. We joined our family a few heartbeats later, but not before Jasper and Edward had murmured low and urgently to Carlisle, who unsurprisingly refused their offers with a patient grace. It is always in such moments that I realize that Emmett is the wisest of the three, for he is always the one to know when to leave things be, to have the will to not fight his own understanding of his family.

Once in the comforting anonymity of the whispering forest, Edward and I had run east of our siblings, instinctively separating ourselves from company. After two minutes and a kilometer later, we had both stopped, Edward allowing me to tug my hand gently free from his grasp. I had not needed to ask for solitude, or even to think of it in a plea. He had understood – he who could read every non-expression in my face, every flutter of an eyelash, every tremble of the lip. In our fifty years together, we had not liked to be apart, our center of gravity within each other's bodies, the burn of our irresistible pulling more than just the need of corporeality. But it had been done before, our small separations, the moments in which we each reclaimed our individual right to ourselves. And it had to be done again on this night, when I had struggled to even be the mistress of myself, let alone the mistress of our shared souls.

He had stepped up to me, and when we were face to face, breathed in my hair, his few words murmured melodies.

"Hurry back to me, my love. I've left my heart with you, always. _Always_."

I had pulled him back to me as he turned to leave, and I had kissed him as fiercely as I could, my breath hitching as I struggled with the sobs that would not come. He had gazed into my eyes for a full minute after, and then he was running through the trees, back to our brothers who were waiting for him to start the hunt. I had known that he was running from his own crumbling resolve to leave me, for every second spent by my side makes it a second he cannot overcome. After fifty years, our love has become a dance - a dizzy twirl of need and want and free falling, and it is hard to even put a pause on this music, this fly of quick fingers over sensuous piano keys.

As I pound through the landscape now, seeking futilely to outrace my thoughts, I realize I hate our time apart, because we are better together. Together, our musings cannot hurt us – his perpetual demons over our damnation are kept at bay, my guilt of our nature is silenced and appeased. But I would not hurt him with my thoughts in this moment of my self-loathing – I would not risk his remorse and heartache even if he cannot hear the tumult within my head. I love him enough to want to attempt the impossible of protecting him from what I already know he knows – I ache to protect him from hurt itself, my beautiful man who believes himself the archangel of my demise.

I do not regret my transformation, I never have, and I never will. The massacre of thirty innocents might smear my passive hands with blood, but it will not change my mind. Edward knows this irrevocable truth, because thoughts do not lie, and mine are his to plunder. But yet, I am broken by the events of this night, and I am beginning to understand the compulsive remorse that must have plagued my husband for the better half of a century. We do not want to be monsters, and by our efforts, we have not been. But what about the questions we cannot bear to ask ourselves, the questions that come to the surface when the kin of our venom remind us of our fallibility with their own unabashed displays of homicidal malice?

I lean forward on the small mountainous mould I am standing on, and close my eyes, listening to the sighing music of my hair whipping out behind me.

"Damn Aro and the rest of the Volturi," I curse in a whisper, allowing the wind to carry my words away, to collect my secret thoughts as it whistles home towards the awaiting North.

"The festivities do not agree with you then."

I drop instantly into a defensive crouch, and spin around, the beginnings of a snarl building in my throat. Marcus is balanced on a tree branch a few paces behind me, his face hidden in the long shadows of the sweeping boughs. Silently, I offer my careless distractedness a few choice vulgarities, and ease myself back upright, wiping my face clean of emotion. I am a Cullen now, and I will be intimidated by no one.

"Will you allow me to join you?"

Unlike the deliberate silk of Aro's words, Marcus' voice is even, if not disinterested. I incline my head in a gesture of acceptance, and he is immediately beside me, landing with the fluid grace that is breathtaking to behold, even with my years as a vampire. I fold my arms loosely across my chest in a subtle statement, and wait for Marcus to speak, his presence a strange distraction for my unruly thoughts. I look obstinately forward, unwilling to give Marcus the pleasure of my interest, but my eyes search out his profile regardless. Like his brothers, Marcus' skin is waxy with his immortal years, stretched thin over his dramatic features, the sharp angles of his face surprisingly aristocratic. He is dressed in slate, a shade of deep dusk that collects the light like ashes, that darkens as he turns to face me. I wonder fleetingly at his choice of apparel, at his mourning colors, my mind drawn to the possibility of hurts that do not belong to me and those I love. I understand too well the trick to distractions, the art to finding a distraction that would continue to be distracting to pass the generous hours of eternity. And Marcus' imaginary heartache diverts my attention from my own unanswerable questions of nature, and soothes my seething restlessness.

"You do not approve of Aro's revelry."

It is not a question that Marcus offers, but a statement, his scarlet eyes stirring with the faintest interest.

"No," I return, my tone brusque.

Marcus moves to stare at me fully then, the dull sheen of his sanguine eyes now glowing dimly, throwing the washed grey of his demeanor into a thoughtful sepia.

"Well, food is food."

I bristle at his casual dismissal, and recall yet again the unnaturally vacant human faces.

"Not to me."

My words come out measured and calm, my vampire composure censoring the anger and blame in my reply. Nonetheless, Marcus picks up on my veiled aggression, and smiles, his lip curling in vague amusement.

"Ah, no, of course. Carlisle's pet project …"

His voice trails off, and his pupils dilate as he retreats within himself, completely oblivious to my presence. I find myself again considering his strangeness, his detached reticence as he shrugs deeper into his robes of loss and mourning. I wonder at his thoughts and emotions, and not for the last time in forever, appreciate Edward and Jasper's abilities to eavesdrop.

"May I ask you something, young Bella?"

He does not wait for me to answer, but meets my eyes boldly, no challenge in his gaze but for a certain curious expectation.

"Your family hunt animals for survival," he gestures behind us as Rose's laugher peals faintly in the distance, accompanied by an alarming crash that could have split the sky in half, that I recognize as Emmett's full-bodied tackle.

"Tell me, young Bella, do you not think yourselves superior to those creatures you hunt? That you are, quite rightly, the top of this ecological food chain?"

He laughs once, shortly and without real mirth, and continues.

"So what makes you different from us then? Aro believes us to be the master race, and we have the right to pass judgment on the paltry life spans of those below us in the food chain. Your family does the same, do you not?"

He regards me openly now, his face relaxed, and I realize that my replies are not important to him, that I very possibly do not hold any real interest for him even at this height of our forced conversation. I do not want to dignify his commentary with any retort, but my tongue pushes the words out of my mouth, and they burn, heavy and furious, on my blood-white lips. I do not speak the words, because I soon understand that they are not truly words at all, but belligerent protests that would only confirm his assessment. He seeks not to antagonize me, nor to stage a confrontation, but I take little comfort in these concessions, biting down on my lips as his words scorch in a manner that only unwelcome truths can.

"The comparison is distinctly unfair, is it not, with our vastly different variables?"

Edward's crisp voice cuts across the small field, and I turn to see him leaning against the tree Marcus had earlier vacated, his face smooth and unreadable. His arms, like mine, are folded across his chest, and his tawny eyes flicker to my face, and the wild humming in my head subsides, temporarily.

"Edward."

Marcus' voice is suddenly more alive than I've heard from him in all our time together, both before and on this night. His gaze flies from Edward to me, and he chuckles, as though he understands a joke neither of us could share.

"Of course, my comparison is possibly unfair."

He graces me with an apologetic smile, and then, quicker than my troubled senses could process, he is brushing past Edward as he leaves our company. Edward's eyes narrow as Marcus pauses by his shoulder, and without warning, my love stiffens, his body suddenly fraught with tension. Marcus spares the both of us a last searching glance, and then he takes to the trees, the small whoosh of his leap nearly drowning out his whispered parting.

"A gift for you, my young ones, to consider. And yes, Bella, I agree that we are indeed monsters."

Silence falls thickly around us with Marcus' departure, and soon, the moon breaks through the dense cloud cover, cutting the grassy forest ground with thin silvers of shimmering light.

I open my mouth to ask Edward about this invisible gift, but am distracted when I feel his cool arms wrap around my waist, pulling me impossibly close to him. I give in to my own need, and sigh, leaning deeper into his embrace, my ears searching out the soundless drum of his heartbeat as I rest my head on his chest.

"You want to know the gift he spoke of," he murmurs into my hair, hearing my thoughts as I widen my shield to allow him into my head.

 _Yes, please._

Edward sighs, and detaches himself from my hold. I make a small whine of protest, and he laughs, reaching forward to capture my hands in his. I look up into his face, glorious in the cold moonlight, and resist the temptation to kiss away the crease that has now appeared between his eyes, knowing that it will only distract him further.

"It is difficult to understand his reasoning, and Marcus does have a most unreasonable definition of well-wishes, but he is of your opinion that certain aspects of our nature make us monsters."

Edward's topaz eyes glimmer with badly concealed hurt and remorse as he speaks the words, and I feel a ribbon of ache twist blindly in my heart. I think, desperately and quickly, of the night's events, pleading with him to understand the reasons for my assessment. He closes his eyes, and would turn his face away, but I rest my trembling hand on his cheek, and force him to look at me.

 _I love you, and I don't regret what I asked you for. I don't blame you for it either, never. Better a monster in this life, than a saint in any other without you._

We stand, hip to hip and in perfect silence, and I think involuntarily of how much I love him. He worries about being a monster, and I know with perfect clarity that he shares my anxiety regarding our natures, but he would fight to protect me from this hurt that has haunted him for an entire century before our paths crossed.

"I want some of that burden, my love," I whisper now, even though it is needless, even though he can hear me as clearly in absolute quiet.

 _I am strong enough, now, to carry that torment, and I want to. I love you._

When he opens his eyes again, they are glistening with a moisture I know he can never shed, and he reaches forward to kiss me, his lips gentle but searing against my own, our love the impossible contradiction it has always been.

When Edward finally tells me of Marcus' gift, it is in the presence of our entire family, as we wait to board the five a.m. flight for home. I know he wants Carlisle to know of Marcus' cryptic words, and I have agreed to be patient. I had expected this task of patience to be a difficult one to accomplish, but strange as our night is, Jake had come to me with a surprise that had chased all thoughts of Marcus' gift from my head.

My family had clearly been anticipating Jake's surprise for awhile now, and as I struggled to get hold of my facial expressions, I saw Emmett hand Jasper a roll of cash, scowling fiercely as he did so. Edward had shook with laughter beside me, and under his breath, had requested that I not attack my future son-to-be as I had done so many years ago. I had glared at him, but unclenched my fists, and he had turned triumphantly to look at his brothers, who had both thrown him a stash of currency, snapping their wrists with greater force than was necessary.

"I think Jazz and Em were betting on you killing me, Bells," Jake had managed to mutter, cracking me a nervous smile as though he was of the same opinion.

I had sighed, and looked over to my daughter, who had been drowsing, upright, against Rose's shoulder, her human half exhausted by the long night. To be honest, Jake's announcement should not have taken me aback – it is no secret that he loves Nessie dearly, and even Rose had begrudgingly admitted that Nessie loves her wolf just as fiercely. From the wide grin Edward had been favoring Jake with, I had gathered that he approves of the match, if not secretly relieved that it had taken Jake half a century to take his precious daughter from him.

I smile at Jacob now, as my family gathers in the waiting lounge around Edward, and he winks at me, his arm around Nessie's shoulders, his russet hair a familiar blend against my daughter's bronze curls, the both of them twin sources of light in this muted airport. Edward reaches back for my hand, and I twine my fingers around his, comforted by this order of our world, this _rightness_ that no horror of nature can undo.

"Marcus was thinking of his mate last night," Edward begins, his darting gaze settling immediately on Carlisle's look of quick comprehension.

"Didyme committed suicide, because she hated what we are, what she was."

There is a sharp intake of breath at Edward's quiet words, and I do not need to look up to know that my own expression of shock and pity is mirrored on the faces of my family. I hear a low cursing to my right, and I realize it is Emmett, his hands clenched into fists as he looks at Rose almost pleadingly. Alice shakes her head at Em, her round eyes wide with understanding, and Em pulls an unresisting Rose into his arms, his ocher eyes grave with a desperation that I understand only too well.

"We are not all Didyme, Em, no matter how much we might regret our change," Edward murmurs, a half-hearted reprimand in his words.

Emmett does not react, his large hands resolutely gripping Rose's, who is clinging to him with a passion that is unapologetically intimate.

"And Marcus means to warn you of how our marriage could end in the same destruction and mayhem," I finish, sick to my stomach at the realization, at Marcus' liberal assumptions.

"It will **not** ," Alice declares, impatiently and with an indignant roll of an eye. "Marcus is insane and sees doom everywhere."

Carlisle's words are more thoughtful when he speaks, and I let his reassuring voice wash over me, closing my eyes as I reel with disbelief at what Didyme must have done.

"I have never met Didyme. When I fell into company with Aro and his brothers, Didyme had long been deceased. But I have always known Marcus to be detached and indifferent, and yet, resolutely pessimistic in all his uncaring. It is as though the only emotion he can bring himself to commit to is the pleasure he receives from contemplating our inevitable doom."

I recall Marcus' bored expression on that clearing fifty years back, as he allowed himself to be swept along by his brothers' bloodthirsty plotting, uncaring of the lives that must come to an end because of his participation. I recall his face earlier in the forest, the dull animation in his dead features sparking his face into a glow of sepia - a man who belongs still to the past, who still sees Didyme in the gathering dusk.

There is no time for our family to discuss the issue further, as the boarding call for our first class cabin is announced over the system. As Edward and I enter the rollaway tunnel behind Esme and Carlisle, Esme had turned and grabbed me in a hug, her eyes shining with the wordless comfort that she does not know how to impart. I had leaned into the embrace, and realize, with a jolt of unlooked for surprise, that I am calm, that Didyme's tale of destruction has answered my questions of nature, and not in the manner that Marcus would have expected.

I hear Rose and Emmett whisper to each other from across the aisle now, and I curl into Edward, resting my head on his shoulder as we both look out the window. Behind us, Jake is protesting heatedly as Alice pushes sketches and sketches of outrageous wedding outfits in his face, Nessie and Jazz laughing at their mates as they lean over their seats to get a better view. I smile at Edward as the plane prepares for take-off, and as we line up on the runway, he leans over to whisper in my ear.

"Enough for forever, my Bella."

I watch the first rays of the sun as it hits the horizon, the pale liquid amber no different from the incandescent glow in my husband's eyes, from the mischief and affection lurking in my siblings' gazes, in the love rich in my daughter's inherited irises. I reach across Edward and pull the window down, and think _for forever,_ making silent peace with the answers that have always already been before me.

**End**


End file.
